


please don't go (i won't hurt you i swear)

by space_trekkie



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody's Favorite Grumpy Vulcan Boyfriend, F/M, Interspecies Relationship(s), Jim is Trying His Best, Meet Again As Exes, Nyota Uhura Saves The Day, Pon Farr, Romance, Starship Enterprise (Star Trek), Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_trekkie/pseuds/space_trekkie
Summary: Nyota pulls back from his arms. “Thank you, Jim. For everything.”“You’re the one who’s saving his life.” He cracks a smile then starts the long walk to the turbolift. As he goes, he turns to her one more time. “Goodluck, Nyota.”She watches the broad line of his shoulders disappear behind a bend in the corridor. She’s finally alone in the hallway, staring at the door in front of her. Spock lies just beyond the metal plating. The only man she’s ever really loved. The man she chose to leave, two years, ten months, and seven days ago. The man she came here to save.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Nyota Uhura, Spock/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 20
Kudos: 126
Collections: Spock_Uhura_Love, Spuhura





	1. riyeht-kashik

_Stardate: 2261.65_

“Where is he?” Nyota asks, her eyes studying the cluster of security officers blocking the corridor in front of her. They don’t respond immediately and she clears her throat.

A tall ensign at the back of the group finally responds to her, without meeting her gaze. “In his quarters.”

She searches her memory from the last time she was on the Enterprise—it’s been almost three years. “C Deck?”

“We can’t allow you to do that, sir.” The head security officer pauses. “He’s dangerous.”

Nyota forces a tight lipped smile on her face and clenches her hands into fists. “I’ll be fine.”

She takes a few steps towards them and multiple hands shoot forward. She takes a moment to calm herself. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’m here as a special favor to the Captain.”

“Really?” The head security officer raises his eyebrows and looks her up and down. He’s a portly man with dark hair and a ruddy complexion. She already doesn’t like him.

Nyota crosses her arms in front of her chest. She doesn’t have time to deal with this right now. “Comm him. Find out for yourself.”

The man walks over to a nearby control panel and taps a few times. Jim Kirk’s voice floods through the computer’s speakers. “This is the Captain.”

“Lieutenant Freeman here, sir. We have a situation at the turbolift. A Commander…” He stares at her expectantly.

She wants to punch him, but just grits her teeth and responds. “Uhura.”

“A Commander Uhura is trying to get past the security barricade.”

“She’s here?” Jim audibly sighs over the comm connection. “Thank god, let her through.”

Lieutenant Freeman sputters a bit and turns even more red in the face. “Sir?”

“You heard me, let her through right now.” He sounds desperate, and Nyota’s heart starts to race. She fights the urge to sprint through the crowd of confused security officers.

“Understood, sir.” He doesn’t even have the courtesy to look sheepish as he orders his officers to step aside.

As soon as she’s through the barricade and around a corner, Nyota checks a control panel for a map of the ship. She guessed right when she got on the turbolift. Commander Spock’s quarters are on C Deck, but she’s still a few hundred feet from the door.

Nyota walks briskly down the halls of the ship she used to love, her chest tightening with nervous energy. She wipes her sweaty palms on the edge of her uniform skirt and tries to control her breathing. She has a job to do. A duty to her fellow officer. Personal feelings cannot affect her judgement, not this time.

Nyota arrives at his door in mere minutes. She abruptly stops when she sees the silhouette of a man sitting on the ground, legs splayed out into the corridor. His head is in his hands.

“You should’ve called me earlier, Jim.”

The Captain lifts his head and studies her for a few seconds, before giving her a small, timid smile. “It’s good to see you, Uhura.”

Nyota nods once and moves to sit down beside him. The metal of the corridor wall is cool against her back. “How long has he been like this?”

“A few days, maybe. Not more than a week.” He runs his fingers through his short cropped blond hair. There’s purplish bags forming under his eyes. “He broke a lieutenant's arm, after they got into an argument over system efficiency. That’s when we figured it out.”

Nyota stiffens. “Oh my god.”

“I didn’t know, I couldn’t have known—” Something in his voice breaks. “It took five people to put him down.”

Nyota reaches her arm over his shoulders and squeezes. “It’s not your fault.”

“He’s just so fucking stubborn.” Jim curls his hands into fists. “Not telling anyone, not calling you, it’s…”

Nyota interrupts him. “Selfish.”

Jim presses his lips together and smiles, eyes fixed on the bulkhead in front of him. “Exactly.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just listening to each other breathe. It’s been years since they’ve been in the same room. Since Nyota abandoned her life aboard the only ship that’s ever felt like home.

“I’m scared, Nyota.” Jim lays his head against her shoulder. “He can’t die.”

She clenches her jaw and tilts her head back against the corridor wall. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

“You haven’t seen him.” He pauses. “He was prepared to kill himself instead of burdening you.”

Nyota shakes her head and scuffs the edge of her boot against the ground. “Idiot.”

“Do you know what to expect?” Jim asks, deep set blue eyes shifting to her face.

“Somewhat.” Nyota is familiar with the vague details of _pon farr_ —the initial symptoms of physical violence and irritability, the insatiable need for telepathic connection, all spurred by the rush of endorphins and hormones that if left untreated, would eventually kill him. “I talked to Amanda about it a bit, but it was years ago.”

Jim nods once and moves to stand. “Can I get you anything?”

“There’s a replicator in there, right?” Nyota asks, as she stands alongside him. When Nyota and Spock used to share quarters on the ship, they weren’t equipped with a personal replicator. The Enterprise has undergone a lot of upgrades in the last few years though, she knows.

“There is.” Jim glances towards the closed door. “Bones is on emergency standby, if you need anything.”

“How’s he handling this?”

“Better, now that he’s figured out what it is.” He shuffles his feet and stares at the ground. “He’s really glad you agreed to come.”

Nyota smiles slightly. She’s missed the Chief Medical Officer in the time she’s been away. “Hopefully I’ll get to see him, once this is over.”

“You will.” Jim reaches over and gives her one last hug. His body is warm against hers. “This deck is blocked off for now, but you can let us know if you don’t think he’s a security threat anymore.”

Nyota pulls back from his arms. “Thank you, Jim. For everything.”

“You’re the one who’s saving his life.” He cracks a smile then starts the long walk to the turbolift. As he goes, he turns to her one more time. “Goodluck, Nyota.”

She watches the broad line of his shoulders disappear behind a bend in the corridor. She’s finally alone in the hallway, staring at the door in front of her. Spock lies just beyond the metal plating. The only man she’s ever really loved. The man she chose to leave, two years, ten months, and seven days ago. The man she came here to save.

Nyota smooths the hair of her ponytail. The door to his quarters opens automatically at the movement and she takes a tentative step forward.

The lighting in the room has been dimmed. She can barely see her feet as she carefully maneuvers her way through the doorway and into the main living area. It’s small, with a simple couch covering one wall and a couple bookcases and a _ka'athyra_ stand dotting the other. The smell of incense is sharp on her nose and the air in the room is stiflingly warm.

“Computer, raise room brightness by ten percent.”

That helps a little and she starts to study her surroundings. There’s broken pottery and glass pieces scattered across the ground, she recognizes a few shards amongst the rubble—her favorite black coffee cup and a blue glazed Andorian plate she got him for their second anniversary. She soldiers on past the kitchen and towards the bedroom.

The walls are almost completely bare, a stark difference to the quarters they used to share together. A slight pain has lodged itself in her chest ever since she found out that he moved rooms. It’s like he wanted to get away from the memory of her, purge himself from every reminder of her existence.

The door to his bedroom is open and she stands in the entryway, watching the rise and fall of his naked chest. He’s sitting cross legged on a meditation mat, eyes closed and hands resting limply on his thighs. The sharp line of his dark hair, the long planes of his face, they’re all the same. Exactly as she left them.

He has to know she’s here, his ears were always so good at noticing her footsteps. She could never sneak up on him, no matter how hard she tried. Nyota raises her head and studies the bed. It’s a mess, pillows are thrown everywhere, and the dark-colored sheets and comforter are all twisted together. The sight of it scares her. He’s normally so fastidious about bed-making, it used to drive her up the wall.

His eyes are still squeezed shut, but his chest is rising and falling more rapidly now, so maybe her presence is having some effect. It’s strange, being in his company after so much time apart. He is as striking as she remembers, and as handsome.

Nyota raps her knuckles on the doorway lightly. “I’m going to make tea, if you’d like to talk.”

She waits for a few seconds, but he doesn’t say or do anything. She just nods and turns away. The walk to the kitchen is hazardous, she has to carefully dodge broken glass as she goes. Her journey is worth it though, since she discovers a box of her favorite Vulcan tea bags after rifling through his cabinets for a few minutes.

Nyota replicates some hot water and settles down at the kitchen table. It’s mostly intact, with only a few pieces of a broken chair strewn about the floor. She debates her next course of action. He needs to mediate, she knows that, but it would be so much easier if he just gave in now. If they just did the deed and went about their merry ways. But something tells her it’s going to be more difficult than that.

She takes a sip of her tea and kicks her feet against her chair. It’s wonderfully spicy, and the aroma is strong even against the incense permeating the room. The tea in combination with the heat in his quarters is making her tired, especially after the twelve hour shuttle ride she took to get here. Nyota finishes her cup and lays her head on an arm that’s propped up on the table. She might as well get some rest, before the action begins.

***

“You should not have come.”

Nyota jolts upright from her position in the kitchen. Her shoulder is already sore and she’s sure there’s unflattering lines pressed into her face. She blinks her eyes a few times and looks over to the bedroom doorway. Spock is standing there, staring at her.

“I didn’t have much choice.” She wipes her eyes quickly and flexes her back. “What time is it?”

“18:00 hours,” Spock responds, beads of sweat forming on his upper chest and neck. He’s shaking now, and his jaw is clenched so tightly that she’s worried he might break something.

Nyota stands and clears her empty glass. The dishwasher is surprisingly empty. “Are you going to let me help you?

“I am perfectly capable of handling the situation alone.” Spock is taking big, heaving breaths. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

Nyota can feel rage rise in her throat. They’ve had this exact fight countless times before. “You don’t have to though.”

He doesn’t respond and she moves to pour him a glass of water. “Even if you do manage to live through this, and there’s only a twenty percent chance of that, you might end up with significant brain damage or neurological issues for the rest of your life.”

“I’m ready and willing to help. I’ve not been coerced and I’m here on my own free will.” He opens his eyes slightly and Nyota meets his gaze. “Is it really worth the risk?”

“I do not wish to be a burden.” His voice is so soft that Nyota almost misses it. Something in her chest constricts.

“You are not now and you never will be.” Nyota carefully maneuvers the living area again, stopping a few feet from his body. She can feel waves of heat radiating off his torso.

When she comes to a stop in front of him, he inhales sharply through his nose and she can see his pupils dilate. His already dark eyes are nearly black in the dim light of his quarters. She hands him the water and he takes it from her, purposefully avoiding her fingers.

“I heard you broke a guy’s arm.”

Spock takes a few long swallows of the water and soon the glass is empty. She takes it back from him. “Regretfully, yes.”

Nyota smiles, then looks at the ground between them. She’s missed the particular cadence of his speech—the precision of his words. “I’m sure Bones fixed him up quick.”

He doesn’t respond, just studies the column of her throat. She feels herself flush under his attention. A slight tremor overtakes his body and he has to grip the door frame for support. When he speaks next, his voice is raspy and pained. “ _Nash-veh yontau na’ du._ ” _I burn for thee._

Nyota sets the empty glass on his desk at the left side of the room. She takes a breath and fiddles with the edge of her uniform. “Get on the bed.”

He obliges her. Nyota turns and enters his bedroom, hands shaking slightly. She shouldn’t be nervous, they’ve done this countless different times on countless different occasions. This time feels different though, for obvious reasons.

He sits on the farthest edge of the bed, spine ramrod straight and fists twisted in what remains of the covers. The look of his face is feral, uncouth. Far from his usual refinement and blank features. She walks a bit closer to him and watches his expression. He’s panting now, and she can see the outline of his erection through his black mediation pants.

Every muscle in his chest and arms is flexing, and he’s definitely fighting back the urge to touch her. Nyota steels herself, then reaches to her hemline and drags her uniform over her head in one, hopefully, graceful motion.

When she finally gets the material off of her, she’s surprised. He’s staring intently at her collarbones and not at her partially naked body. Nyota reaches up and realizes in an instant.

She has on the _vokaya_ necklace he gave her years ago, the one that belonged to his mother. She’s worn it every day since she’s left.

He reaches up with shaky hands and grazes the tips of his fingers over it, careful not to touch her skin. He opens his mouth, once, then twice, but can’t seem to find the words. The blood fever is likely clouding his mind.

“We’re going to get through this,” Nyota murmurs, as she reaches to lace their fingers together. A wave of emotion crashes over her in an instant. Rage, fear, shame all slam their way through her consciousness. It’s an overwhelming, almost painful sensation. She wants to drag her hand back, get away from the chaos of his mind, but she doesn’t. She squeezes tighter and leans her forehead against his.

“ _Du nam-tor ri sa'awek._ ” _You are not alone._

It’s like a dam breaks. Spock reaches out in a flash and pulls her body towards him, settling her on his lap on the bed. His hands fly to the curve of her ass and he squeezes, rolling his hips against her and pulling her downwards.

She straddles him, hands wrapping around his neck, and lungs gasping for breath. It feels good—to touch and be touched by him.

There’s a familiarity to the feeling of him rocking up against her center, but the frantic, almost desperate look in his eyes, that’s new. Nyota tilts her head down and kisses him. The press of his lips to hers is almost sloppy, like his control is slipping away by the second.

He’s usually so precise, so methodical, at least from what she remembers. His hands have snaked their way up her back and have managed to undo her ponytail. Her long hair spills out across her torso and he slides his fingers through the strands.

His erection is becoming more insistent beneath her. Nyota presses one last kiss to his lips and steps back, disentangling from his arms. An uncharacteristic whine rises in his throat and Nyota cannot help but smile.

“Shh—you’re alright.” She reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra and the whining promptly stops. She shucks off her underwear in one fluid motion then moves to lay on the rumpled mess of a bed. Spock crawls over to her quickly, but she stops him with a hand on his chest. She kisses him once, harshly, then tugs at his pants. “Off.”

He’s standing in a second and pulling the material over his hips and down his legs. He kicks the pants a few times when they spool at his feet and then turns to her.

He’s just as fit as she remembers. He’s covered in lithe, corded muscle that is currently strained against the urge to move, to fight, to fuck. Even in the dim light of the bedroom, she can see green copper-based blood pooling at the base of his cock. The head is already leaking and he groans when she runs her hand along the shaft.

He’s on her in a second, crushing her body with his, pinning her to the mattress. He’s kissing her again, a new urgency to his pace. His whole body is vibrating slightly and heat is shedding off of him in waves.

She drags her legs up his hips. With practiced ease, he grabs her left knee and hitches it higher. He’s positioned at her entrance.

He’s taking deep, shuddering breaths now, and tries to hold her gaze. He pulls his free hand upwards from where it was massaging her chest and hovers it above her face. Nyota inhales sharply.

One more deep breath. “May I?”

It must take enormous effort to compose himself in this moment. Nyota’s thoughts are so scattered that she has to pause and think before responding to the question.

“Yes, yes, you can,” she answers, as she presses her hips upwards and against him.

He slides into her slowly, at the same time as he lowers her hand to her face. Nyota arches her back and tries to accept the rush of heat being thrown at her from his subconscious mind. His thoughts are a whirlwind—the way she looks, smells, and feels beneath him are at the forefront. Images of them together, touching, kissing, flash behind her eyes Above all else, she can feel the way he burns. The fire in his blood compels him, forcing him to claw his way inside her mind. To know her, to know everything about her, truly and without exception.

The stretch of him is uncomfortable for a few seconds, but it soon melts away to a pleasant feeling of fullness. He kisses her, forcing his tongue between her lips and begins to rock his hips in a steady rhythm.

She claws at his back, trying to control the sensations flowing through her. It doesn’t work.

“ _T'nash-veh ashaya, sarlah du pla' na' nash-veh._ ” _My love, you came back to me._

It takes her a second to realize that he didn't say it out loud. She presses her forehead against his, desperate, trying to gain some kind of mental purchase, to avoid falling into the _plak tow_ for a few seconds longer. To savor the words of adoration and love spilling freely from his mind.

He begins to snap his hips, fucking her into the mattress. The grasp of his fingers is so tight on her leg that she’ll surely have bruises tomorrow. She’ can’t find the energy to care.

Unabashed sounds rise from her throat. He’s grunting audibly now, from the exertion of his unrelenting pace, and sweat has started to drip from his forehead and neck. She tries to study his expression—the subtle slackness around his jaw, the slight distant, disconnected look of his dark eyes—as the hot air in the room spirals around them.

Heat is rising quickly in her belly and their minds have begun to tangle and intermix. She can sense how good the thrust of his hips feels, how tight and warm she is around him. She wonders if he can feel how he fills her, the tortuous slide of him inside her, oscillating just on the brink of what she can take. They’ve given themselves over to instinct, the throbbing push and pull of two minds inextricably connected by millenniums of ritual and culture.

The rhythm of his hips starts to stutter and he hides his face in the curve of her neck. His fingers are still pressed desperately to her face. She’s close, infuriatingly so, and she urges him to go deeper, to shift the angle of his hips slightly downwards on each thrust. That does something, and she clings to him as he buries himself in her, once, twice, before spilling over with a silent shudder. An unexpected sound is ripped from her throat as she falls with him, echoes of his pleasure leaking into her consciousness.

They stay like that for what seems like hours, afterwards. Him sprawled on top of her, the weight of his dense body comforting in a way she had somehow forgotten. When she regains the ability to think and move her limbs, she shifts out from under him, wincing at the newfound feeling of emptiness. Nyota is careful not to rouse him. His eyes are closed, but she doesn’t know if he’s sleeping or in some kind of meditative state. It doesn’t much matter, she muses, in the grand scheme of things.

The fever is sated, for now.


	2. dahshaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock emerges after a few minutes, dressed in clean black sleep clothes. His expression is blank as he watches her from the doorway.
> 
> Nyota savors the moment. It’s quiet, peaceful even. That’s all about to change.
> 
> She takes a breath. “I can’t do this anymore.”

_Stardate: 2258.23_

Red alert sirens are blaring through the bridge and Nyota can’t think straight. Three Klingon warships have just materialized out of warp and are firing torpedoes at the _Enterprise_. Their shields and return fire are deflecting some of the damage, but it’s not enough. Sparks fly from the comms station and she jumps back, hands seared from the heat. She rubs them off on her uniform and tries to focus.

“Tell me you’ve got a lock on them, Scotty.” The Captain is standing at the middle of the bridge, a look of horror gracing his pale features. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

The chief engineer’s voice is frantic when he responds. “I’m sorry, Jim—there’s too much subspace interference. I can't quite make them out.”

“Goddammit.” Jim kicks the ground next to his boot and turns to Lieutenant Sulu. “How close can we get to that rock?”

The helmsman displays an image of the small mineral asteroid they’re orbiting. “A few hundred meters probably, but that’s cutting it close.”

Nyota studies the view screen desperately. She can see an exploratory shuttle parked on the rocky surface, currently sitting empty next to a small research compound. Spock is in that building along with three other science officers. They were investigating a rich deposit of dilithium, one that could potentially change the course of the war.

“Comm, Commander Spock.” The Captain glances at her. “And keep firing all we’ve got.”

Nyota moves to a neighboring terminal and completes the order. His voice is broken and full of static when he answers. “Captain.”

“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome, Commander. Is everyone suited up and ready to go?”

The connection crackles again. “My fellow officers will be exiting the compound in approximately forty-five seconds.”

“Great, that’s great.” Jim runs his hand through his short hair. “How are our shields holding up, Ensign?”

Chekov taps on his control panel a few times. “Thirty-five percent, sir.”

Jim whistles, a low sound in his throat. “Sulu, now’s the time.”

“On it, sir.” He grabs at the lever next to his station and the ship lurches forward. Nyota clings to a control panel, trying to quell the rush of anxiety swelling in her chest.

Three Starfleet officers in blue atmospheric suits file out of the research compound, their bodies minuscule on the _Enterprise_ view screen. The ship shudders violently from another torpedo hit.

Jim has returned to his seat, his knuckles white against the metal composite. “Please tell me you have them now, Scotty.”

“Aye, sir, but there’s only three life signs on the surface.”

“What?” A look of panic crosses the Captain’s face. “No, absolutely not, Spock.”

The comm signal is even weaker now. “It must be done, Captain.”

Nyota gasps and clutches one of her hands to her chest. He’s going to try to detonate the asteroid, she realizes.

“This amount of dilithium cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the Klingon Empire.” He pauses. “Once my fellow officers are safely aboard and the ship has entered warp, I can use the preexisting subterranean mining charges to create a chain reaction that will destroy the mineral deposits.”

“Spock, that will kill you.” Jim looks at her, his face white as a sheet. She grips the console in front of her as hard as she can. Spock is right, they don’t have the firepower to destroy the whole asteroid while also fighting off three Klingon warships.

“It is the logical choice.”

“Bullshit.” Jim nods to her and she cuts the signal. “We’re getting him out of there.”

“Lieutenant, take us as close as you can. I don’t care if you have to scratch the paint.”

Sulu revs the engine again and the ship inches impossibly closer to the hunk of rock. The hull starts to make a horrible screeching sound, likely from the upper decks colliding with the asteroid. “Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine, Sulu.” Jim stands and stalks towards the view screen. “Scotty—”

“I’ve got them, Captain! I’ve got them!” The chief engineer is nearly screaming into the comm. A few seconds pass and Nyota can hear the faint sound of the transporter engaging. “Safely aboard, sir.”

Jim turns to her and smiles, eyes bright with relief. “Punch it, Lieutenant.”

The helmsman takes a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

***

Nyota’s hands are numb as she makes her way to their quarters. The echoes of red alert sirens still ring uncomfortably in her ears. The door slides open automatically and she heads straight to the bathroom, peeling off her uniform in stiff, disjointed movements. She runs her burned hands under cold water before stepping under the sonics. If they bother her too much, she’ll stop by Sick Bay later. Bones always loves a chance to use the dermal regenerator.

She stares at the wall of the shower for what seems like minutes. She feels hollow, somehow. Almost lifeless. Devoid of the relief she should feel in this moment. Nyota has lived through this exact scenario so many times before. First with Gaila, and now with him—when he throws himself in harm’s way, over and over again. It’s killing her, slowly but surely.

The pressure of the sonics helps clear her mind. By the time she steps out of the shower, she knows what she has to do. She wraps a towel around her body and steps out of the bathroom.

The sound of the door sliding open startles her. It’s Spock, dressed in his blue science officer uniform. She doesn’t say anything to him.

He seems to sense her mood and just walks past her to the bathroom. She gets dressed quickly and sits on the edge of their bed, hair falling loosely down her back. Her eyes wander over the artwork dotting the walls, the shared possessions sitting on their dressers and nightstands. The evidence of their life together.

Nyota wants to tear it all down. To feel it break and rip under her hands. She doesn’t though, just sits quietly and waits.

Spock emerges after a few minutes, dressed in clean black sleep clothes. His expression is blank as he watches her from the doorway.

Nyota savors the moment. It’s quiet, peaceful even. That’s all about to change.

She takes a breath. “I can’t do this anymore.”

To her surprise, he doesn’t ask her to clarify. Maybe it’s the look on her face or the seriousness of her tone. He just nods and she watches him turn and walk to the kitchen. He pulls down her favorite mug and proceeds to make them tea, hands clinical and steady.

Nyota rubs at her eyes and sighs. This has been a long time coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Doesn’t stop the dull ache that has already started blooming in her chest.

She stands off the bed and moves to sit at their tiny kitchen table. He’s already seated, large hands wrapped around his own cup. His fingers are squeezing the ceramic a little too tightly and she can see the light green outlines of his knuckles.

He speaks first. “I respect your decision.”

Nyota scoffs. Of course he does. “Do you want to know my reasoning?”

“I believe I am already aware of your general thought process.” He takes a sip of his tea and she watches as a muscle in his jaw flexes.

She taps her fingers against the tabletop. “Enlighten me, then. What am I thinking?”

“That I engage in unnecessarily risky behavior.” He pauses and one of his hands clenches into a tight fist. “Behavior that may one day lead to grievous bodily harm or potentially even my death.”

“I can’t watch you die.” Nyota feels tears well in her eyes, but she does her best to stamp the feeling down. “I won’t let myself.”

Spock stares at her carefully. “Nyota, I cannot promise that I will not face dangerous situations in my career as a Starfleet officer.”

“But you don’t have to sacrifice yourself at every opportunity.” She slams her palms down in front of her. “Not for some stupid fucking dilitium crystals!”

Nyota regrets raising her voice instantly. She lifts her mug to her lips with shaky hands and takes a sip. “I’m sorry.”

His voice is soft when he speaks. “You do not have to apologize.”

“I need some time to think,” Nyota says, head swimming with fear and anxiety. She needs to get away—away from him and everyone else on this damn ship.

Spock nods. “I will request the use of guest quarters.”

“No, I—” She pauses and squeezes the top of her left bicep with her free hand. “I’m going to request a transfer, tomorrow morning.”

Spock’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open slightly. “If that is what you wish.”

Nyota presses her lips into a tight line. “It is.”

Spock just nods, and stands to take away their empty cups. She watches him work, melancholy rising in her throat. It’s for the best, no matter how painful it is right now.

He doesn’t try to convince her, doesn’t beg or plead, just follows her when she heads to the bedroom and lays down on his side of the mattress, the silence deafening between them.

Nyota reaches for him in the dark after a few minutes. He catches her hand in his and brings it to his lips. The kiss is brief, but gentle, and he releases her wrist quickly afterwards.

She leaves her hand extended towards him on the bed for the rest of the night. He doesn’t reach for it again. If he ever notices the steady stream of tears slipping down her cheeks, he doesn’t say anything.

When Nyota wakes up in the morning, he’s gone. She doesn’t try to find him. The transfer request she inputs is approved in a matter of hours and she’s off the _Enterprise_ by the end of the day. A nearby cargo freighter headed for New Vulcan agreed to let her board. She’s going to be stationed as a language preservation consultant at the Vulcan Science Academy. Nyota figures a desk job will be a welcome respite, a chance to think and recover, to figure out what she wants and where she’s meant to be.

Scotty nearly bursts into tears in the transporter room. Jim isn’t much better either. Before she steps onto the pad, he gives her a bone crushing hug and whispers in her ear. “Take as much time as you need.”

He expects her to come back, she knows that. They all do. A small part of her hopes she will, given enough time and space. It’s comforting to know that she’ll always have a place here, even if it isn’t with the person she thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

With a push of a button she leaves, gone from the ship and crew that has become her home over the last few years, armed only with two duffel bags containing her most important possessions. It’s freeing, but she can’t quite escape the pit in her stomach. The one that’s convinced that this decision is a mistake, that she should run back, fall into his arms, and forgive him. It would have her forget the pain and suffering she’s experienced, watching him almost die, over and over again, unable to do anything to save him.

No. Nyota refuses to continue as they’ve been. She will not condone his unwillingness to even consider the possibility of change, or accept his complete disregard for how his seemingly logical actions will impact her. She ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach and forges onward—to the next chapter of her life, wherever it may be.


	3. tersaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air in the room is thick with unsaid words. His deep, steady voice cuts through the silence like a knife.
> 
> “Why did you come?”
> 
> The forlorn look on his face spurs something in her and she reaches out across the table. He places his hand in hers. She takes a breath and steels herself against what she’s about to say.
> 
> “Spock, you’ve been the only one. Ever.” she pauses. “I will never stop caring for you, even if I don’t want to. Even if it’s illogical.”

_Stardate: 2261.66_

Nyota walks to the kitchen and runs a finger over her kiss-bruised lips. Her hair lies tangled across her back and she pulls her fingers through it haphazardly, trying to bring it to some form of order. It doesn’t work.

She can feel soreness in her legs and hips. It’ll be worse tomorrow, she knows. But it’s worth it. Temporary discomfort is a small price to pay for saving his life.

Nyota walks to the small refrigerator in the corner of the kitchen and peeks inside. It has some leftover _plomeek_ soup in a reusable container and a few Vulcan vegetables strewn about the shelves. It’s rather empty, in comparison to how they used to live.

Nyota was adamant about stocking the fridge. Her and Spock used to travel to the botany bay every week to pick up fresh fruit and vegetables. It was a habit they picked up from their time together at the Academy, when they would spend lazy Sunday afternoons at the farmer’s market near campus.

They were so young then. So naive. Unaware of the pain and suffering to come.

Nyota grips the refrigerator handle with a bit too much force. She closes the door and heads to the replicator sitting on the counter. It beeps when she finishes typing in the code for Gaila’s infamous pistachio ice cream recipe. Her old roommate would have loved the situation she’s found herself in. Probably would have found it endlessly hilarious.

Nyota pulls the green monstrosity out of the replicator and sits down at the kitchen table. She takes a bite and sits back in her chair, enjoying the familiar favor.

Nyota misses Gaila terribly. Even now, she can feel the pit of grief that opens up in her chest when she thinks of her. The dull ache that never quite goes away.

The weeks and months after the Nero incident were incredibly difficult. They were both in so much pain, yet Nyota had to compartmentalize. She lost her roommate and her best friend, but he lost everything—his planet, his mother, the only home he had ever known.

They made it through somehow.

The sound of something crashing causes her to flip around. Spock is finally awake, and he’s trying to traverse the minefield of broken glass and pottery sprawled across the floor of the main living area. His expression is blank when he looks at her, but something in the stiffness of his posture gives him away.

“ _Nash-veh nahp du had losrak nash-veh va'ashiv._ ” _I thought you had left me again._

“I wouldn’t do that to you. Not now.” Nyota says, as she watches the hard lines of his face soften slightly. She wonders idly if he could even speak in Standard if he wanted to. Maybe that part of his brain is just closed off at the moment, shut down in favor of more basic instincts.

He maneuvers the last few feet to her, all while scowling at the broken shards under his feet. She wants to comment on it, to joke about how he can’t be upset about a mess that he himself created. But she doesn’t get the chance.

He bends down to kiss her, the pressure of his lips steady and hot against hers. She reaches up and threads her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck, ice cream forgotten. They stand together and he places his hands on the jut of her hips and pushes.

She feels her back collide with cold tile and he shifts his hands to her ass and hoists her upwards. They’re more level now, and she can see the way his pupils are blown wide. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of seeing him like this. Uninhibited. Uncivilized. Almost predatory. It’s intoxicating.

She can feel the hard length of him poking insistently against her thigh. He steps between her legs and presses, hips rolling slowly. She sighs against his cheek and grips the hard muscle of his upper arm.

It’s not quite what she imagined. The urgency is definitely there, but he’s more present than she expected. More cognizant. Not some robot following his programming.

He’s fiddling with the flimsy pair of underwear she managed to slip on after leaving the bed. He tugs at the fabric, clumsily trying to pull them off while still firmly lodged between her legs.

“ _Ash pla'rak._ ” _Step back._ Nyota pushes on his flat chest when he doesn’t immediately respond. She doesn’t want him to rip them, she only brought one pair.

He finally steps away from her when she gives the exposed skin of his side a pinch—a hurt expression sliding across his face.

Nyota stifles a laugh as she shucks the thin material off and over towards the kitchen table. As soon as her underwear is out of her hand, he’s back pressing himself against her. One hand slides upwards between her breasts to cup the back of her head as he kisses her, tongue playing deftly inside her mouth. The other settles between her legs.

She sighs as he presses two long fingers inside her. She’s still sore from earlier, but the uncomfortable feeling begins to slip away as he starts to move. They continue on like that for a few minutes, heat rising her belly and a blood rushing towards her cheeks.

He pulls out suddenly and positions his head so he can look at her. Her chest is heaving now and she has her hands looped loosely behind his neck. His erection strains against the hot skin of her thigh.

He brings the hand that was tangled in her hair around and rests it a few inches from her face. He studies her, eyes silently begging for permission.

She nods once and he shifts forward, pads of his fingers making contact. The rush of emotion is less overwhelming this time, but it still takes her a few seconds to orient herself. Regret is at the forefront of his mind, she realizes. Fear. Longing. Uncomfortable feelings, centered on the deep, unrelenting loneliness permeating his subconsciousness.

She might have gasped aloud, judging by the way he’s looking at her. She can feel moisture well in her eyes and she tries to wipe it away quickly, before he can notice. Spock grabs her head roughly with his other hand and locks his gaze with hers.

The kiss they share is searing, lips and teeth clashing, meshing together violently and without reprieve. She wonders if he can feel it—the deep well of loneliness that infects her mind, that pervades her very soul.

They’re two sides of the same coin, him and her.

He positions himself and pushes, sliding in much easier than before. She moans against him and squeezes her legs against his slides. The rhythm he sets this time is slower, less frenzied. He’s taking his time, making sure she feels every stroke and thrust of him inside her.

She’s shaking by the time he quickens his pace, one hand reaching backwards to brace herself on the countertop. She can feel his pleasure growing across their connection, and it sends her spiraling, heat rising with every flick of his hips. She grips the curve of his back and cries out, eyelids squeezed tight against the feeling.

She watches him as she regains herself, eyes just barely open in the dim light of his quarters. Sweat is dripping down the side of his neck and his jaw is clenched tightly. He snaps his hips a few more desperate times and spills over, a heavy breath escaping his parted lips. His body shudders as he slumps over, head resting precariously on her shoulder.

They stay there for a few minutes, enjoying the aftershocks of pleasure that seep through their connection. When their breathing has slowed and sweat dotting their skin has dried, they separate, Nyota wincing against the change in pressure.

Spock presses a kiss against her temple, hands gently tracing patterns against the sensitive skin of her inner arms and chest.

“ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular._ ” _I cherish thee._

She recognizes the Vulcan endearment immediately. It’s most typically used between bondmates, and she’d heard his father say it to his mother on rare occasions. She takes a deep breath, before she responds.

“ _Heh nash-veh du, t'nash-veh ashaya._ ” _And I you, my love._

For some reason, she starts to cry.

***

The next few days pass in a blur of hot, tangled bodies and quiet meditation. It’s unnerving, when they wake up beside each other on the fifth day, heads clear and fever abated.

Nyota stares at the gray ceiling in his quarters, bruises blooming over her body and soreness creeping through her muscles.

They did it. Despite the odds. Despite his innate stubbornness and apparent death wish. She covers her face with her hand and smiles.

“ _Ra nam-tor ish-veh_?” _What is it?_

Nyota turns to watch him. His stiff, inscrutable expression is back. “Nothing. I’m just happy.”

He nods and reaches to intertwine their fingers together. Nyota feels a spark run up her wrist, and a feeling of contentment flows through her.

Nyota rubs her thumb over the dry skin of his hand. “How are you feeling this morning?”

He pauses before he responds. “Much improved.”

Nyota grins again, it’s the first time he’s spoken Standard in days. “I’m glad.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, until Nyota pries herself away and heads to the kitchen for some breakfast. He follows closely behind her, both still naked from the previous night’s exertions.

She punches cereal into the replicator and sits down at the small table, eyes watching the broad line of his shoulders and the curve of his back as he putters about in search of something to eat. He scowls slightly when he sees the leftover _plomeek_ soup in the refrigerator, which has surely gone bad by now.

He walks over the replicator and hits one of the pre-saved meal buttons. A few seconds later… a salad appears. Nyota stifles a giggle and takes another bite of her plain corn flakes.

Spock peeks at her over his shoulder and raises one dark eyebrow. She doesn’t explain.

He sits down next to her with his rather sad bowl of lettuce and she studies him. He looks relaxed, more content than she’s ever seen him. It’s a good look, she decides.

“I trust your posting has been satisfactory?”

Nyota doesn’t expect that question. It seems too stilted, too impersonal coming from the man sitting naked in front of her. It’s as if the bubble they've been living in for the past few days has suddenly popped. 

She swallows a bite of cereal. “It is. I’m actually based in _Shi’Kahr_ now.”

He nods once, spearing a piece of lettuce with his fork. He doesn’t even have any dressing.

“I actually see your father fairly often, we have lunch together sometimes.” Nyota swirls her spoon around and crosses her legs. “He misses you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, just flexes a muscle in his jaw. “Perhaps.”

The air in the room is thick with unsaid words. His deep, steady voice cuts through the silence like a knife.

“Why did you come?”

The forlorn look on his face spurs something in her and she reaches out across the table. He places his hand in hers. She takes a breath and steels herself against what she’s about to say.

“Spock, you’ve been the only one. _Ever._ ” she pauses. “I will never stop caring for you, even if I don’t want to. Even if it’s illogical.”

Nyota presses her lips together and smiles gently at him. He is staring sharply at her, mouth slightly parted. “I had to come...I wanted to, even.”

The grip of his fingers on her is almost desperate. “I wish—”

He shifts in his seat, spine stiffening slightly. “I wish to rectify the situation… to mend the gap between us.”

“Oh.” Nyota nearly drops her spoon. “I see.”

Spock inhales sharply through his nose and studies her face. “I now understand that I was wrong to ignore your wishes.”

“No shit.” Nyota cracks a smile and squeezes his hand. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“It was easier to simply dismiss all fear and concern for my physical health and wellbeing, than to accept the ramifications of my own mortality.” He pushes his salad bowl forward a few inches. “But it was a selfish, and ultimately illogical decision, since it harmed you.”

Nyota lifts the back of his hand to her lips and gives it a quick kiss. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

“I apologize for the pain I have caused you.” Spock’s voice is soft when he speaks. The tone spurs Nyota to stand and she makes her across the small table, moving to gently perch on one of his muscular thighs. He wraps his arms around her and Nyota presses their foreheads together.

“I forgive you.” She takes a deep breath. Spock rests his fingertips on the meat of her hip and presses lightly. “You could have come after me, you know. I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

“I did not wish to intrude upon your life.”

Nyota smiles into his cheek and absentmindedly runs her fingers over his scalp. “I wanted you too though, I think.”

“I was unsure if you had—” He turns his head to look at her. “Moved on.”

“I could never,” Nyota says, eyes meeting his dark gaze. Heat is radiating off his bare skin, but it’s comfortable now, instead of uncontrollable and feverish. She settles in closer to his chest. “So, what do you think?”

His eyes flick downwards towards her lips. “Pardon?”

“Should I stick around?” Nyota kicks her feet against the table, careful to avoid the one broken chair. “Or, should we set an appointment for seven years from now?”

Spock’s eyes widen slightly. “I would prefer the former.”

“That would be acceptable,” Nyota says in her best deadpan voice.

Spock looks at her blankly for a few seconds, before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Will you not miss your position?”

“I think it’ll be alright.” She stands slowly and goes in search of her comm. “I’ve been grounded for too long, anyway.”

Nyota finally finds it stashed under a pile of her clothes near the bed. She catches Spock staring at her from the kitchen as she bends over to retrieve the device. “Jim is going to cry.”

Spock’s eyes still trail over her as she dodges broken glass and moves to sit down in her own chair. “You may be correct.”

Nyota presses a few buttons and the comm starts to dial. The Captain picks up in seconds.

“Hey, Jim.” Nyota pauses. “No, hey, don’t worry, everything’s alright. We actually just finished.”

Spock reaches across the table, palm facing upwards, and Nyota grasps his hand. “I actually wanted to ask if you were looking for a new communications officer.”

The Captain’s shout of joy is audible even through the comm. Spock squeezes her hand and she smiles at the feeling of rightness of it all.

She’s finally back, exactly where she needs to be. Nyota stares at their intertwined fingers resting on the table. Feelings of relief, happiness, even love, flit across their connection. They are ready now, to face whatever comes next, together. 


End file.
